


A Bit of Holmes History

by Consulting_Crazy



Series: Mummy Holmes [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Childhood issues, Family Drama, Gen, Kid!Lock, Mycroft is horrible, The Holmes family needs serious help, There is a reason Sherlock doesn't like him, teen!lock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-21
Updated: 2013-10-03
Packaged: 2017-12-27 04:45:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 4,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/974497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Consulting_Crazy/pseuds/Consulting_Crazy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabbles and snippits of the Holmes Family. Same Verse as "Mummy Holmes at Baker Street"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I

Sherlock had always been strange. That was part of what endeared him to his mummy. His mummy didn’t care at all if he said odd things or figured out what other people said he shouldn’t be able to no matter how obvious it is. His mummy had always just smiled and hugged him when he was able to say things like that. That had made Mummy the most important person in Sherlock’s world by default.  
So, when Sherlock was five and saw his Mummy curled up on the couch staring absently into the fireplace in her study, he climbed up next to her and patted her hand. He noticed, then, that Mummy wasn’t wearing her ring. The gold one that she said was what showed other people that she was married. Sherlock saw then that the ring was on the table next to the couch.  
“Mummy.” Sherlock said, “Did father do something?”  
Mummy’s eyes left the fireplace to land on Sherlock, “Now what lead you there Sherly?”  
Sherlock smiled, always happy to show his Mummy how he figured things out, “Your ring, Mummy. You don’t usually take it off, and since it’s related to father, it being off your finger means you don’t want to be connected to father.”  
Seraphina smiled slightly and ran her hand through her son’s black curls. “My brilliant boy, don’t worry, your father’s just been difficult recently. I’m sure things will go right back to normal.”  
Sherlock nodded, not liking the sadness that was in his mummy’s smile. Sherlock quickly came up with something to cheer Mummy up. She loved to hear his deductions (that was the word he had found for them recently…he’d have to tell Mummy that too).  
“Mummy…can we go into town and I can tell you about the people there?” Sherlock asked. When Mummy nodded Sherlock jumped off of the couch in joy. His mummy followed at a slower pace, enjoying her son’s energy. She started humming. It was soft enough that most children wouldn’t have noticed, but Sherlock was by no means ‘most children’. However, at this moment he was just happy that his mummy had been cheered up, so he just stored the information in his memory and continued out of the house


	2. II

When Sherlock was seven, he saw something he couldn’t quite explain with anything other than reminding himself that his brother was an idiot. Mycroft had scoffed at something Mummy had said and replied with no more than a harsh, “Yes, mother”. Sherlock quite wanted to punch his brother. Mycroft knew that Mummy didn’t like being called ‘mother’. (She’d once told Sherlock it had something to do with her mother). But as Mycroft brushed passed him, he just turned and glared at his brother. Once Mycroft was out of sight, Sherlock ran up to his Mummy and hugged her.  
She stiffened for only a second before wrapping her arms around Sherlock.  
“Your brother is a pain…” Mummy had murmured to Sherlock.  
Sherlock just buried his head in her stomach and said, “You don’t need him.”  
She laughed, “Is that because I have you, my precious little boy?” Sherlock just nodded and hugged his mummy tighter. She returned the squeeze, sinking to her knees so her son could wrap his arms around her neck, and her head could lightly rest on his shoulder. She started humming then. And Sherlock felt something wet seep into his shirt.  
That was when Sherlock started calling his brother “enemy”. Because any one who made Mummy cry had to be horrible.


	3. III

When Sherlock was eight, he had a nightmare. He had had nightmares before, but he’d been able to calm himself down enough before. This one terrified him beyond reason. He didn’t even want to think of it, because that made him shake more. But Sherlock had to think of it, rationalize it, so he could go back to sleep, because Mummy said it was important for him to sleep. But every time the image appeared in his mind he started trembling.   
Sherlock was near tears when the door to his bedroom opened.  
“Sherly?” His mummy’s voice floated into the room, “Sherly, are you okay?”  
“M-Mum-m-my!” Sherlock cried getting up from the bed and running, full sprint, to his mummy.  
“Shh…” She said as she picked him up into her arms, “Shh….Sherly, what’s wrong?”  
“N-nightmare.” Sherlock stuttered, “We were in the car, on our way into town so I could tell you about everyone there.” Sherlock buried his head into her shoulder, “Then we were rolling in the car. When we stopped…I…I…I…looked over and…and…Mu-Mummy, you-you were…” Sherlock’s words were devolving into sobs.  
“Shh…Sherly, do you want to come sleep in my room?” Mummy asked quietly, “Would that help?”  
Sherlock nodded into her shoulder. Mummy held him tighter as she walked down the hall to her room. She had a separate room from his father. She always had. And right now Sherlock was glad she did, because his father would just scoff at the thought of sleeping with a child because of a nightmare.   
When they reached Mummy’s room, she flipped the lights on and set Sherlock down on the purple bedspread. Sherlock was reluctant to let Mummy go. But she just smiled and tucked him in to the bed.  
“I need to turn the lights off Sherlock, then I’ll be right back.” She soothed him  
“Promise?” Sherlock whimpered.  
“Promise, Sherly.” Mummy whispered. Sherlock let go and Mummy quickly went to flick the light off. Then Sherlock could feel the bed shift under Mummy’s weight. When she stopped moving, Sherlock rolled over so he could hear Mummy’s heart under his ear. Mummy wrapped her arms around Sherlock and held him tight. She sang quietly, and as Sherlock drifted off, to dreams rather than nightmares, he heard some of the words.  
“Lay your weary head to rest, don’t you cry no more.”


	4. IV

An ten year old Sherlock watched as his brother left the house for Uni. Really Sherlock couldn’t be happier that his arch enemy was leaving. Sherlock was glad he’d no longer have to deal with how Mycroft acted like Mummy was second best. Mummy was second to no one. No one at all.   
As the car pulled away with Mycroft inside, Sherlock smiled. He looked up at Mummy expecting to see a smile on her face as well, but was surprised to see that she looked sad.  
“What’s wrong Mummy?” Sherlock asked.  
“Nothing Sherly.” Mummy sighed. Sherlock’s father scoffed.  
“Why,” Father huffed, “do you insist on that childish nickname for him, Seraphina? Isn’t that ridiculous name you gave him bad enough?”  
Sherlock glared up at his father now, “I like my name.” He said defiantly.  
Vincent Holmes scoffed again, “You won’t like it so much when you start attending school this year. At least Mycroft had learned to detach himself by this point.” He left then. Not wanting to linger in their presence, Sherlock decided.  
Sherlock looked up at his mummy then, “What does Father mean Mummy?”  
Mummy sighed, “Most children in school are horrible little beasts.”  
“Why?” Sherlock asked.  
Mummy looked to the sky then back to Sherlock before answering, “Most children your grade are finally realizing the differences between everyone. Then they get to the point where they like to point out these differences in the most negative light possible.”  
Sherlock looked worried, “And my name is one of these differences.” It was stated, not asked.  
“There are many things different about you. And none of them are bad, Sherly.” Mummy assured him, “I’ll always be here for you, though, if you want to talk.”  
“Much more than father would be…” Sherlock muttered to himself, “Mummy, can I change my hair color?”  
Mummy looked a bit surprised by the question, “It is possible to Sherly, but why?”  
Sherlock looked up at his mummy and replied, “The only thing that I have of Father’s is his hair, but I want to look more like you Mummy.”  
She smiled a bit, “I’m flattered Sherly.” She stated, “Are you sure?”  
Sherlock nodded, he was most definitely sure.


	5. V

Sherlock was accompanying his mother to the market to buy the hair color for him. He was holding his mummy’s hand as they walked through the shops. Sherlock knew most kids his age didn’t hold their mummy’s hands any more, but Sherlock didn’t care. He loved his mummy. He didn’t care what kind of looks he got from people in town for it. Looks like the one Alison Parker, owner of the beauty shop, was giving him now.  
“Alison, how are you?” His mummy said politely to the other woman.  
“I’m good Seraphina. How are you?” Alison asked.  
Mummy smiled, “Oh, decent. Sherly here decided he wants to color his hair in time for school.”  
“Are you going to let him?” Alison looked taken aback by the thought.  
“It’s just his hair, and it is his hair.” Mummy stressed the possessive pronoun the second time.  
Alison Parker shook her head and frowned, “What color.”  
“Medium ash blonde.” Sherlock said.  
Mrs. Parker looked shocked, “Awfully close to your mum’s hair color.” She stated.  
“That’s obviously the point.” Sherlock huffed. Alison Parker looked uncertainly at Seraphina. Sherlock didn’t like the look. It was obvious Mrs. Parker was accusing Mummy of something. Sherlock couldn’t tell what it was, but it was clear that Mrs. Parker thought Mummy was doing something bad when all she’d ever done was be the best Mummy in the world.  
They quickly bought what they’d went in for and left. Mummy stopped by the local bakery and picked up a selection of Danishes. Really, Sherlock wanted to laugh. His mummy had more of a sweet tooth than he ever had; in fact, Sherlock had observed it was one of very few things that Mycroft shared with his mummy.  
When Mummy asked if Sherlock wanted anything to eat, he’d just muttered that he’d have a Danish. Mummy smiled and they were soon in the car headed back to the house. Then they went into the kitchen.  
When they’d finished eating, Mummy told Sherlock to take his shirt off while she went to fetch a towel. She returned and wrapped the towel loosely over Sherlock’s bare shoulders. Mummy quickly pulled on latex gloves and opened the box of hair color. She mixed the two parts in the little squeeze bottle that had been in the box.  
“Now, Sherly, I’ll tell you right now, that this is going to itch, and you can’t touch it.” Mummy stated.  
“Have you colored your hair before?” Sherlock asked.  
“When I was quite young, I made myself a ginger.” Mummy stated as she started squeezing the color into Sherlock’s hair. She massaged it into his scalp for about five minutes and for a moment, it was relaxing to Sherlock. Then the itching started. When Sherlock started Mummy chuckled.  
“Stay still Sherly, you only have to sit here for an hour or so.” Mummy said, “Luckily you keep your hair short, so I’m done putting it into your hair.”  
Sherlock pouted as he sat in the chair. But a few minutes later his Mummy was crouching in front of him with a wash rag.  
“Just a bit on your face Sherly.” She murmured as she wiped his face. When she was done she placed a kiss on his cheek. She’d set a timer and had pushed Sherlock into the kitchen table. Sherlock watched as his Mummy pulled out a chess board and placed it on the table. Sherlock smiled and sat up straighter. His mummy pulled out two pawns, one of each color, and hid her hands behind her back.  
“Which side Sherly?”  
Mummy had succeeded in distracting Sherlock until they could wash the color out of his hair. She smiled and lead Sherlock to the bathroom. She pulled down the shower head and had him lean over so his head was over the tub. Mummy then started washing Sherlock’s hair.  
“Make sure, Sherly,” Mummy said, “that you condition your hair twice for a few days.”  
Sherlock nodded, “Okay Mummy.” He said, playing with his now blond hair.


	6. VI

Sherlock’s first day of school that year went…catastrophically, or it was in his mind. Nearly all the kids started to hate him because he showed them all up to the teachers. Then, at lunch, he’d managed to pick a few apart in front of everybody, which lead to him gaining a black eye. Luckily one of the teachers saw the punch thrown and sent the stupid little boy to the headmaster, and Sherlock to the nurse. When the nurse asked if he’d like to call his parents, Sherlock nodded and dialed his mummy’s work number, as that’s where she’d be at one on a Monday.  
“Hello, this is Dr. Seraphina Holmes, how may I help you?” his Mummy’s voice sounded from the line.  
“Mummy...” Sherlock said into the phone, “Can you come to the school?”  
“Sherly?” Mummy sounded worried, “Of course, give me fifteen minutes.”   
Sherlock nodded even though his mummy couldn’t see, “Okay Mummy…”  
“I love you, Sherly.” Mummy stated, “I’ll see you soon.”  
“Okay…” With that the line disconnected and Sherlock looked up to the nurse.  
“Your mum coming, dear?” She asked politely. Sherlock nodded.  
He was allowed to stay in the nurse’s office until his Mummy arrived. When she did, she ignored the nurse and went straight to Sherlock.  
“What happened, Sherly?” she asked.  
“One of the boys in class started calling me names, so I told him he shouldn’t pick on me just because he isn’t happy at home.” Sherlock said, “Then he asked how I knew that, and I explained it to him…and he punched me.”  
“Hmm…” Mummy sighed, “Maybe we should have continued the home schooling…” She said, “What happened to the boy?”  
“He went to the headmaster’s office…” Sherlock stated.  
“Well, let’s get you home.” Mummy stated, picking Sherlock up. Mummy walked them out of the nurse’s office and towards the parking lot.  
“Mummy…” Sherlock stated, “I want to try.”  
“Try what Sherly?” Mummy asked  
Sherlock looked towards the ground, “I want to try making friends…”  
Mummy just smiled, “Then try Sherly, I’m not going to say not to.”  
Sherlock smiled a bit. He decided he’d head home for today and tomorrow he’d come back and try to make some friends. After all, how hard could that be?


	7. VII

Sherlock soon found that ‘making friends’ was easier said than done. The other children didn’t like him. In fact, they’d taken to calling him a freak and saying he was really an alien. Not one of the children in his class would look at him without sending off some rude comment, or simply a declaration of ‘freak’. The teacher noticed, Sherlock knows she saw. Sherlock had told her what the other kids were doing, but Ms. Barrows just smiled down at him and said that it was because they were just kids.  
The kids were sure not to physically hurt him. Or at least not while teachers were around. Stephen Caste, the boy who’d punched Sherlock on his first day, often cornered him and attacked him where people couldn’t see the bruises. Carter Parker, the son of the Alison Parker, decided to tell the whole school that he was a ‘little mummy’s boy’ and had colored his hair so he could look like her. Sherlock, of course, didn’t deny it. Why would he? He loved his Mummy more than anyone else he’d ever met. The other kids though that made him a ‘loser’.  
It took all of a week. By the end of that first week, Sherlock had come home and broken down in tears in the entry way. Luckily, it was Mummy, not Father, who found him. She pulled him into her arms and shushed him softly, running her hand through his hair.  
“Mu-Mummy…” Sherlock started when he could manage it.  
Mummy held him slightly tighter, “What Sherly?”  
“Can-can we go back to the home schooling?” Sherlock asked, he pulled away slightly so he could see his Mummy’s eyes.  
She was smiling sadly when she replied, “Of course Sherly, we’ll sign you up right away. If you want we can head to the school tomorrow and pull you out, then we’ll get you back into home-school.”  
Sherlock smiled before leaning back into Mummy, “Mummy, I’m tired.” He murmured.  
“I’ll take you to bed, my brilliant little boy.” Mummy whispered.  
“Mummy?” Sherlock voice was just above a whisper.  
“Hmmm?” Mummy hummed.  
Sherlock shifted in his Mummy’s arms as she picked him up off the floor, “Can you sing that song…the one you sing when I have nightmares.”  
“Of course, Sherly.” Mummy said before starting to sing softly “Carry on my wayward son, there’ll be peace when you are done, lay your weary head to rest, don’t you cry no more.” Then she started to hum the melody softly. Sherlock was asleep before she started singing again.


	8. VIII

When Sherlock next awoke it was to an all too familiar sound.  
“We can’t force him to go there, Vincent!” Mummy’s voice was high, strained, her and Father had been fighting for a while, probably going on for the last hour or so.  
“He needs to learn how to deal with humans, Seraphina.” Father’s voice was calm, as it always is.  
“He came home and broke down crying.” Mummy didn’t yell this, but her voice was cracking.  
Sherlock heard a scoff, “That’s because you’ve raised him too soft.” Their voices were getting clearer. They were approaching Sherlock’s room. In fact they were so close Sherlock could hear Mummy’s growl.  
“I care for him. However foreign that is to you, you machine of a man, it’s what children need.”  
“You’ve made the boy weak.” Father said firmly, “We will not pull Sherlock out of the school. He will have to learn how to deal with people, Seraphina. You can’t shelter him forever.” There was a momentary pause, “I’d almost be surprised. If I didn’t know that they were related, I’d say Sherlock and Mycroft weren’t family.”  
“Nature and nurture.” Mummy’s voice was clipped, “You must know what that phrase means, if not the words separately.”  
“Yes, I’m aware.” Father said flatly. Then there were footsteps leaving the vicinity of Sherlock’s room.  
A moment later the door to Sherlock’s room opened and he quickly closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep. He could hear Mummy walking towards him. She stopped when she reached his bed and he felt the bed shift as she sat down.  
“I’m sorry Sherlock.” She muttered, “We-I didn’t mean to wake you.”  
Sherlock opened his eyes, obviously caught, “You didn’t wake me.” He said.  
“But you heard?” Mummy’s voice was cracking again. Sherlock nodded and buried his face in his pillow.  
“I’m so sorry Sherlock.” Mummy murmured, petting Sherlock’s hair.  
“It’s not your fault Mummy.” Sherlock stated, looking up at his mummy, “It’s all Father’s fault. Father and those stupid kids at the school.” Sherlock paused for a moment before continuing, “I hate them all.”  
“Vincent means well.” Mummy defended Father feebly.  
“He can’t mean well, Mummy.” Sherlock stated, like it was nothing more than a simple fact, “Father doesn’t care for me. He’s only ever been interested in Mycroft and his work.”  
When Mummy just looked at him sadly, Sherlock figured he was right, “Mummy, can you lay down with me? And…can you sing that song?”  
Mummy did both, though her voice cracked often while she sang. Sherlock curled up into his mummy and listened until he fell asleep again. He wished he hadn’t told Mummy his issues at the school now. It’d just caused a fight with Father and made Mummy sad.


	9. IX

When Sherlock had finished with his first semester of schooling he had decided that friends were not necessary. Sherlock needed nothing from his “peers”. All he needed was his Mummy. So during the winter break, Sherlock could only be found at his Mummy’s side. Even after Mycroft returned and scoffed at him for his behavior, Sherlock didn’t leave Mummy often.  
So, one evening while they were curled up on the couch, Mycroft came stomping in to glare at Mummy, causing Sherlock to glare at him.  
“This is your fault.” Mycroft scowled, “He acts like this because of you.”  
Mummy rolled her eyes, “Mycroft, you both act as you do because of both your father and I. When one is brought up to put one parent on a pedestal and the other lower than dirt you are going to see that the child will do anything the cherished parent wants. If that means forsaking all emotion like the cherished parent, then they’ll do that. If the parent happens to know how unhealthy that is, and the parent instead chooses to show love to the child and only wishes love shown back, then they will have that sort of relationship.” Mummy shook her head, “Dearest Mycie, which one of your parents has a degree in psychology? I wouldn’t talk to your father about what is psychologically healthy, child. He’s been firmly set in a very unhealthy pattern for far too many years.”  
“This,” Mycroft gestured to Sherlock who was curled on Mummy’s lap, “Can’t be healthy.”  
Mummy smiled at him, “The boy is ten, not twenty, and attachment is perfectly healthy.”  
“It’s nothing but a tool for enemies to use against you.” Mycroft scoffed, “Sentiment is a defect found on the losing side.”  
“And you will think that until your losing your mind from loneliness.” Mummy snapped, “Humans are social animals, and as such we need to have attachments to stay sane.”  
Mycroft just strutted out of the room, sure that he was right. Sherlock saw Mummy shaking her head sadly.  
“Are you worried for Mycroft?” Sherlock asked  
“Yes, Sherly.” Mummy sighed, “As much as it would pain Mycroft to admit it, he is still my son, and I do care for him.”  
Sherlock looked up at Mummy, “I’m sure he’ll see your right soon.”  
Mummy just stroked his head and sighed before picking up a book of Edgar Allen Poe and flipping to The Raven. With a breath, she started reciting the poem to Sherlock, and soon he put his issues with Mycroft out of his mind. His brother wasn’t a very important issue.


	10. X

Three days before Christmas, Sherlock noticed his Mummy was acting unusually sad. He walked up to her and grabbed her hand. She looked down at him.  
“What is it, Sherly?” She asked  
“Why are you sad?” Sherlock asked, “Nothing unusual is happening around the house, and your usually so happy right before Christmas.”  
Mummy just smiled at Sherlock, “Oh, your grandmother just sent us a last minute invitation to her Christmas party tomorrow.” She explained, “She is going to be expecting me, at least. Vincent is too busy to come, and Mycroft…is still upset at me.”  
“I’ll go with you Mummy.” Sherlock stated.  
Mummy smiled, “I’m not sure you’d enjoy it. Your grandmother isn’t…nice.”  
“I deal with not nice people all the time at school.” Sherlock said simply.  
“Okay, you can come with me.” Mummy stated, “The minute you want to leave, know I’ll take you back.”  
“There won’t be anyone here worth coming back for.” Sherlock said.  
He noticed Mummy’s sad smile, and he assumed it was because he was right.  
(She wasn’t sad because he was right, she was sad because her family is what her family had always been. But she didn’t say anything.)

When Mummy told Sherlock to dress nice, but comfortable, because his grandmother lived a long drive away, Sherlock complied quickly. He managed to find a pair of slacks and a sweater that would look nice enough. He came downstairs and saw Father standing at the foot of the steps.  
“I thought you weren’t coming.” Sherlock said  
“I’m not.” Father said, “Your mother asked me to wait here, though if she doesn’t finish what she’s doing soon, I’m going to return to my work.”  
“You can’t be away from that too long, can you Vincent?” Mummy’s voice came from behind Sherlock. Sherlock turned to see that Mummy was dressed like him, but her hair was done up too, “I need you to make sure you don’t work through every meal today. Everyone in this house, besides Mycroft, has a bad habit of that.”  
Father just raised an eyebrow, “I don’t know why you try.” Was all he said before walking away from the both of them. Mummy sighed, but turned to Sherlock and smiled at him. It looked strained, but that must be because of Father’s comment.  
“Let’s get going.”

The house they arrived at was much smaller than the one they lived in. It was still nice, of course. Immaculate even. Sherlock could see the difference between this house and his house. The house he lived in was large, but the front lawn was bordered with flowerbeds that his Mummy had added to it. This house just had grass. It was pristine but much less welcoming. Sherlock thought that they must have something inside to make in nicer. Of course…he didn’t have enough data to be sure.  
And it wasn’t nicer. The walls were clean and white with little bits of tinsel here and there, but it was not an inviting house. And the old woman who greeted them at the door was not inviting herself. She gave Mummy a dry look and scoffed at her. Sherlock was sure he wouldn’t like this woman.  
“Seraphina, you are late.” The woman said, “Are you really so divorced from reality? I thought I raised you better.”  
Mummy just raised an eyebrow, “That is quite a leap in logic, Mother.” She stated, “I was set to arrive here on time, but there was a mandatory detour due to road construction.”  
The woman scoffed, “A proper woman would account for such things. How does Vincent put up with you?”  
“How indeed.” Mummy said flatly, “Are you going to invite us in, Mother?”  
“Us?” The woman looked at Sherlock, “Oh, he’s a nice boy. Your youngest?”  
“Yes.” Mummy sighed  
“Yes, Ma’am.” Sherlock’s Grandmother reprimanded Mummy, “And don’t give me that attitude. You should be grateful, the only reason you’re here is your sister insisted you be.” She huffed, “Annabelle is much kinder to you than she should be.”  
“Mother, Annabelle is not kind.” Mummy stated, “I’m sure Annabelle has something she wishes to brag about. Are you going to let us out of the cold? You wouldn’t want your youngest grandson to catch the flu.”  
“Yes, of course.” She stepped back to let them in, “Dear boy, do call me Grandmother Marianne, or just Grandmother would suffice.”  
“Of course Grandmother.” Sherlock said, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice. The woman talked down to his Mummy. He knew his Mummy never spoke to him like that, unless she was punishing him for doing something he oughtn’t. Mummy hadn’t done anything bad, so there shouldn’t have been that tone.  
“Boy, don’t you start with an attitude like your Mother.” Grandmother stated as she started to walk further into the house, “The girl was always trouble.”  
“If I recall, Mother,” Mummy started, following Grandmother into the house, Sherlock following her, “I wasn’t the one who you had to bail out of jail on a regular basis.”  
“Annabelle was simply socializing with hooligans. There is nothing wrong with her.” Grandmother shot at Mummy, “You simply couldn’t bring yourself to socialize. You’d rather let people think you unbalanced, because you spoke to yourself.”  
Sherlock could have sworn he heard his Mummy murmur, “Only way I could find intelligent conversation.”  
“Don’t mumble.” Grandmother reprimanded Mummy, “We have esteemed guests. Unlike you, your sister can convince her husband to join us.”  
“Vincent is a busy man Mother.” Mummy sighed, “He doesn’t get a day off most years, let alone more.”  
“Doesn’t want a day off.” Grandmother scoffed, “But you will be kind to Annabelle and Michael.”  
Mummy plastered a smile Sherlock could easily see was fake, “Of course, Mother. But do remind dear Annabelle and her husband that dear Sherlock is only ten.”  
“Sherlock?” Grandmother looked at Mummy, “That’s what you named the boy? Didn’t the first one teach you to give them better names? Your own experiences should have told you your Father was a fool, and you shouldn’t continue that silly tradition of his.”  
Mummy stopped, “I would not change my name for the world, Mother. In spite of the hazing I received from my supposed peers.”  
“There’s that superiority complex again Seraphina.” Another voice called from the sitting room they were in front of. The woman who left the room to greet them had dark hair, like Grandmother, and hazel eyes that screamed of hatred towards Mummy.  
“Annabelle.” Mummy said coldly, “How is your career coming along. Oh…wait, that’s right, you’re wishing to marry money. How rich is this Michael I’ve just heard of?”  
Aunt Annabelle sneered at Mummy, “Well, my freakish little sister, he’s got a house to rival Vincent’s.”  
“Has.” Mummy said simply  
“What?” Aunt Annabelle huffed.  
“He has a house to rival Vincent’s.” Mummy cleared up her sister’s confusion, “And, it’s my house, technically. It’s my name on everything.”  
Annabelle gave Mummy a dirty look, “And why’s that?”  
Mummy smiled serenely, “Because I’m not content to let a man provide everything for me.”  
“Like Vincent would give you anything, anyway.” Annabelle sneered.  
Mummy raised an eyebrow, “Without his help, I wouldn’t have my lovely boy here.” Mummy placed a hand on Sherlock’s shoulder, “Sherlock, say hello to your Aunt Annabelle, I assume your new Uncle Michael is in the sitting room.”


End file.
